First time trying my hand at Lost Fan Fiction and I'm not sure where this story will take me. Thanks for checking this out. Please R/R if you feel so inclined. :)
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Elliott would never forget the first time he ever saw Margo Kirby. She remembered it differently, of course. (Of course, she would.) But he saw her way sooner, when she was waiting to board the plane. Elliott always thought that word was funny. You 'board' a plane; because that's exactly what you are before you get on the plane and after you're on the plane. Bored. Out of your gourd.
Well, on every flight except for their flight. Elliott might have a lot to say in the nasty letters he planned to send to Oceanic Airways, but none of the complaints would be about boredom. People had died. People might still die if help didn't come soon. It had people on edge and upset and wanting to do something about it. People on edge do stupid things. Impulsive things that might cause everything to go even more badly than if they –weren't- on a deserted island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean? The Indian Ocean? They didn't even know what continent they were on, let alone what ocean they were staring into.
But wait. What had Elliott been thinking about? (It was easy to get off track and let your mind wander, looking at the plane wreck. And that's where he was, standing gazing up at one of the engines, perched tall and mammoth and proud, blocking out the setting sun.)
Oh, right. When he first saw Margo.
Elliott was at one of the bars in the airport, trying not to be bored. She walked right past him – young and fresh looking, with red, dark burgundy hair. Elliott couldn't blame himself for noticing the next part of her anatomy. That part underneath her shoulders but above her stomach. She wore a tight blue t-shirt with a drawing of a concert piano on it. Written underneath it said, 'If you lose your keys, I can find them'.
She ambled over to their gate and plunked down one seat away from a young boy of about – oh nine or ten – who was sitting and looking, well, bored. Elliott had been people-watching since he arrived at the airport, but in particular he watched the boy's father. His dad, African-American male, got into a disagreement with the boy and then went to make a phone call. The kid sat there, huffing out a sigh and swinging his legs.
The young boy stole a glance at Margo, who smiled brightly in return. Elliott couldn't hear what she said next, but whatever it was, she got a laugh out of the kid. A couple minutes passed, and then she took out a roll of lifesavers. She offered him one. Turns out, the kid got the red one. The boy got up and left after that, presumably to find his dad. Margo shifted her gaze upward and Elliott quickly swiveled his chair around to avoid eye-contact. He felt as though he'd been caught. He'd been watching something he shouldn't have, watching someone he wasn't supposed to.
It would be ironic to him later. How was he supposed to know that he wasn't the only one watching?
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Margo met Elliott on September 22, 2004. They were both on the same plane when it crashed. But before she met him, Margo had other things on her mind. Like, the fact that she'd just survived a PLANE CRASH. And then there was the duffle bag that she could not find anywhere.
Margo rummaged through piles of luggage, bags, and backpacks that were littered in the sand. People must have been gathering them into one specific area, because they certainly didn't land that way. Margo's breathed harder and harder, and her heart raced. The sun was low in the sky. She couldn't find her duffle bag; it could be anywhere. Someone else could have found it and could have claimed it as theirs by now. She put everything in one duffle bag and hadn't carried a purse, because why carry two bags if you only have to carry one. Dammit! She'd been so stupid! If only she hadn't been so stupid, she'd have it with her right now. She wouldn't have lost it.
Margo threw up her hands. Great, now she was crying. Just what she needed. She was stupid, stranded on an island, and having an emotional meltdown. She was sure that would be real helpful to the situation.
She felt someone's presence next to her before she heard them say, "What did you do that for?"
Margo looked up. She brushed some tears from her eyes and said, "What?"
A tall, weathered man of Hispanic descent looked down upon her. He was taller than Margo. Not by very much, but his arms belayed muscles and he had a no-nonsense voice. "I said, what are you looking for?"
"Oh," Margo said. She composed herself, or tried to, and said, "I can't find my bag. I've been looking up and down the beach. I'm not even sure why I'm still looking for it. It could be a couple miles into the ocean now, for all I know."
The man blinked and said, "I think I saw more luggage in this section of the jungle over here. There's a path."
Margo opened her mouth to respond to him, when someone ran over to them. He called out, "Did I hear you say that you know where more of the bags are?"
Margo glanced over. A young man with unkempt brownish hair and a seared button down shirt and khakis scurried over. He wore glasses over his blue eyes, and struggled a little, running through the sand. Margo hadn't seen him before. The young man took a deep breath and smiled brightly at Margo. She looked back at him dryly.
The Hispanic man said, "Yes. However, it will be getting dark soon."
The young man said, "That's okay. I'm tired of walking up and down this beach, not getting anything but more sand in my shoes. Where did you see them?"
The man motioned over to a path that cut in between the palm trees and into the jungle. "They're just up there. At least, that's where I think I saw them."
"So just follow that path?" he asked.
"Yes, that ought to be the way."
Margo nodded. "Thank you for your help."
The Hispanic man began to walk in the opposite direction. "You're quite welcome."
Margo looked over at the young man standing next to her and then started upon the path that the gentleman had appointed her to. The young man hurriedly followed after her. "You can't find your bag either, huh?"
"Nope," Margo answered.
"We might not ever find it. I mean, everyone's looking for their stuff. Some people already gave up. But other people are sure that someone's on their way out here to get us. I mean, they have to be. Basically. It's just a fact that when these planes crash, they send their location back to their headquarters."
Margo had her own thoughts on the matter, but said, "Uh-huh."
A short silence loomed between them, and the young man offered his hand. "I'm Elliott. But everyone I know calls me 'Harp'."
"Harp?"
"It's my last name." Elliott held up the lanyard he still wore around his neck. It showed a picture of him grinning for the camera in a suit. It also said that he worked for the L.A. Times. "Harper."
She shook his hand and said, "Hi. I'm Margo."
"Margo. Nice to meet you." Elliott studied her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled pack of Kleenex. "I have some tissues. If you want one."
Margo waved them away. She brushed her hands across her cheeks. "No, it's just allergies. That's why I need to find my duffle bag. It's got my allergy medication in it."
"Oh. What are you allergic to?"
People who ask too many questions, she thought.
Elliott smirked and asked, "Plane crashes?"
Margo couldn't help herself. She smiled. "Yeah, you might say that."
Elliott chuckled. "See. There, I thought that might get you to-"
They were cut off by a loud, piercing roar that echoed throughout the jungle. Margo turned around wildly in her tracks and her mouth parted open. Once the roaring quieted, the sound of crashing trees followed. Margo stared at Elliott with wide, disbelieving eyes, and he looked back at her just the same.
They both realized simultaneously how quiet it had become when the noises stopped and how alone they both were.
Margo started backing up first. Elliott said, "I think we better…"
Margo said, "Yeah."
They both took off running, kicking up sand as they hurried to get back to the rest of the group on the beach.
Margo remembered her immediate thoughts clearly. –Great. Of all the people to be stuck with after a plane crash in a jungle with monster noises, I get the equivalent of Shaggy in Scooby-Doo.-
Later, she'd understand that on September 22, 2004, Elliott Harper had saved her life.